


Spring

by assassin_trifecta



Series: The Seasons of William Miles [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Haytham is not a Templar, I accidentally made another one, M/M, Papaship, implied Desmond/Connor even though that's just a friendship, weirdest ship ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassin_trifecta/pseuds/assassin_trifecta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haytham and William muse over the relationship between their sons one fine Spring afternoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring

With the melting of the Winter frost came a new, pleasant air about the Farm that William hadn’t felt in what seemed to be a long, long time. There was something fresh in the air, something different – which wasn’t often a good sign for the Brotherhood. What mattered most, though, was that – along with the warm air of Spring – Desmond’s smile seemed to grow a bit more wider. William noticed that his boy seemed to be playing along with the you Connor Kenway more and more, their companionship growing throughout the Winter and blossoming in the Spring.

            They were young, they were happy, and they were mostly unaware of the threat that loomed over every hill and treetop.

            William couldn’t say that much for himself.

            Still, though, the assassin mentor couldn’t be too terribly unhappy with his own circumstances. While he had lost his wife years before, he found companionship within Connor’s father, Haytham. He had provided good friendship, good council, and a… a shoulder to lean on when even William’s coolness thawed out a little too much for his liking in the coming of Spring.

            It was unusual for William Miles to spend much time out of his office when he wasn’t training his son, but given the dry weather and the sunlight, he had decided that Winter had provided him with enough hermitage to last another week or two.  It was with these thoughts that William stood in the field outside of his office building, staring into the trees as though they would provide answers, or worse, an attack.

            The soft shuffle of grass, the giggles of children – young boys, by the sound of it – and the soft mush of three sets of feet against still-drying soil brought William out of his revere. Turning, the assassin came face to face with the very man he was thinking of before, followed by their two children. Desmond and Connor skipped along behind Haytham, grinning and laughing at what could only be the man’s short ponytail.

            “And here I thought you lived in your office,” Haytham announced, stopping a few short feet away from William, the boys herding behind his legs to peek out at the mysterious man. Haytham looked down at the two with conspiracy writted on his features and laced into his tone. He whispered to them as a narrator might while he spoke of a rare animal on a documentary. “Alas, the illusive mentor decides to show his face.”

            “Very funny, Haytham.” William rolled his eyes at the childish behavior, crossing his arms indignantly. “What brings you out here?”

            The Englishman spread his palms out in a gesture of innocence, placing one on Connor’s head, ruffling his hair, and the other on Desmond’s shoulder. “Connor wanted to play a game, I thought it only appropriate for them to have adult supervision.”

            William’s first instinct was to tell Desmond that there was no time for games, and he saw on the boy’s face that Desmond had expected such a reaction as well. Instead, he took the time to bite his tongue, glancing between the three congregated before him. “Very well,” he succumbed, after a moment, to the eyes of two children and those of the full-grown assassin standing before him. “But stay within our eyesight, boys, don’t trail too far, and make sure neither of you get hurt.”

            With his blessing, Desmond and Connor both tore off across the grass, Desmond slipping and falling, much to William’s chagrin, right after his father’s warning. Both boys laughed it off, however, Connor reaching down and holding his hand out for Desmond to take. Once they were both on their feet again, they were back to darting toward the trees; Haytham and William watched as Connor scurried up one of them, beckoning Desmond up behind him.

            “They’re good friends, you know,” Haytham broke the silence between the two of them once Desmond had followed Connor up the tree and the two of them were nestled in the branches, giggling and tossing pieces of bark at targets unknown to their fathers.

            “I’m glad for that,” William replied after a moment, watching the two still. Truthfully, he couldn’t have been more indifferent to the situation. He had mused before that emotional attachments were difficult to maintain for assassins, but as Winter moved on and times had changed… he himself felt another one growing. William’s disdain for Desmond’s need for friendship was decreasing as one of his own was being formed. The mentor looked over to his friend, nodding once. “Truly, I am.”

            “As am I, Bill,” Haytham muttered in response, going so far as to put his arm around the other assassin’s shoulders as they watched their sons play. “As am I.”


End file.
